


After The Storm

by Vatukka



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Boost (Star Wars) - Freeform, Comet (Star Wars) - Freeform, Feelings Realization, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Sinker (Star Wars) - Freeform, the clones are related to each other in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29802645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vatukka/pseuds/Vatukka
Summary: The storm had passed sometime during the early morning hours, leaving behind soft clouds bathed in different hues of orange and gold. Finishing the last of his coffee, Wolffe decided that it was time to check the damage.
Relationships: Plo Koon/CC-3636 | Wolffe
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	After The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this back in the last days of May 2020 and it has been buried in my folders ever since. I've actually given a hint of it in the fifth chapter of [War Stories](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22602979/chapters/66977797)
> 
> Many thanks to menac_ika for the beta job because can now finally yeet this here.

The storm had passed sometime during the early morning hours, leaving behind soft clouds bathed in different hues of orange and gold. Finishing the last of his coffee, Wolffe decided that it was time to check the damage. Rinsing the black mug with the House of Stark insignia – a gag gift from Comet but jokes on the bastard, he actually liked it – Wolffe put it away, grabbing his old waxed jacket from the hook by the backdoor.

Stepping outside, Wolffe’s eyes squinted slightly at the sunlight reflecting from the lazily rolling waves before turning to check if the strong winds had done any damage. First inspection showed that nothing important had been broken; Wolffe bent down to straighten the two tipped over flower pots, droplets of water falling off from the green leaves and dark violet petals. The man gently plucked away wilted flowers and seed capsules before tipping the plastic pots once more for the excess water to trickle out.

Once certain that his violas weren’t in the danger of drowning, Wolffe walked down the stone-laid path to the private pier behind his cozy, two-storage house. The old wood creaked slightly under his boots and Wolffe’s approach scared off the pair of seagulls that had come to rest on the boat tied up the pier. The man was satisfied to find that the boat cover had held away most of the water – Wolffe had been slightly worried with the downpour – and he easily got rid of the puddles that had gathered before getting aboard, a tiny smile appearing on his lips when he folded the cover away.

His boat may not be as big and fancy as the one his cousin owned but he wasn’t a professional fisherman like Cody and his motley crew. While Wolffe had “escaped” the family business by getting a job at the island’s fire department, he still liked to spend most of his free time at the sea. The Fetts had been seafarers for generations and it was a connection that Wolffe was loathe to cut even if he saw no pleasure in standing hour after hour in a miserable weather in the middle of the sea.

Just as Wolffe finished checking the cabin, his ears caught the sound of tapping on the port side of the hull. It sounded twice, like a polite knock, and Wolffe braced himself just in time as the boat suddenly tipped, accompanied with the sound of churning water. He turned around to find his most recent reason for spending his free time at sea leaning over the boat’s gunwale, dripping water all over the small deck.

“I take it that you were waiting for me?” Wolffe asked dryly, raising his scarred eyebrow even as turned to see the mer hanging on the edge of the gunwale, in the process of heaving himself into the boat.

Plo hummed, sharp claws scrabbling slightly on the rubber deck covering as he manoeuvred himself so that he could stay half-reclined against the side of the boat. The mer’s long tail effectively crowded the small space and Wolffe knew that there were still at least three more meters of that dark, umber-like tail that didn’t fit into the boat.

Waiting for the reply, Wolffe watched with a small grin as Plo fussed with the sleeveless tunic he wore before the mer was comfortable enough to settle down, hands clasped over his chest.

“You know, you could’ve just gotten to the pier, no need to twist yourself into a tiny space like this,” he couldn’t help but point out.

“And you know that I don’t mind “twisting” myself into tiny spaces,” Plo replied evenly, his deep voice sending a shiver down Wolffe’s spine.

The first time he had heard the mer speak, the man had likened it to the very ocean Plo lived in, powerful but soothing. Then again Wolffe had been more than a little drunk after a night out with the boys from the fire department and he had this bad habit of becoming poetic while under the influence of alcohol. Sinker called it Wolffe’s Fake Byron Phase.

He might’ve also nearly fallen down from the pier when a mer had suddenly risen from the water right in front of him. The only reason Wolffe had not bolted away immediately could be explained by the earlier mentioned alcohol consumption and the fact that his intoxcated brain had decided that since the mer was not one of those deceivingly pretty mers that people liked to post about on social medias, he didn’t need to run away just yet (they had those in the waters around the island, the ones that looked deceivingly human-like, but Wolffe had been lucky that night since eerily pretty mer or not, he could’ve still ended up being pulled under water).

Plo, as the mer had introduced himself shortly afterwards, had tilted his head at Wolffe’s sudden bout of swearing, a soft chuckle escaping from behind the weird face mask he wore. The husky sound of amusement had caused Wolffe to pause, blinking as he stared at the mer that was gently bobbing in the water.

“It’s been a while since I heard that language but I take it that you belong to the Fett clan?” Plo had asked, silvery eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

Wolffe had opened and closed his mouth before nodding once, and the mer had hummed, rising high enough to rest his hands on the pier – the man’s gaze had flickered down at that, eyes widening when he had seen the rather thick claws on the webbed, four-fingered hands.

“Good. I am Plo Koon and I have a message for Jango Fett. Unless someone else is now in charge of your kin?”

Wolffe had had this passing moment of confusion on just why the kriff a mer wanted to speak with his _ba’vodu_ before he had replied, “Uh no, the old man’s still alive and kicking. What’s he done now?”

The mer had chuckled again, claws scratching slightly against the wood, and Wolffe had blamed the night wind for the shiver that had ran down his spine. He couldn’t really make out all details in moonlight but Wolffe was quite sure he had never seen this kind of mer.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious. I was just sent to inform him that our pod has returned.”

“Sure. Uh. Tell Jango that Plo Koon and his pod is back? Can do that.”

“My thanks…?” the mer had trailed off, silvery eyes seeming somewhat contemplating as they had stared at Wolffe, who had realised what the other was expecting.

“It’s Wolffe, Wolffe Fett. Jango’s my _ba’vodu_ – uncle.”

Plo’s eyes had crinkled and the mask had shifted oddly. “Pleasure to meet you, Wolffe Fett.”

The odd mer had disappeared after that, splashing just enough water for Wolffe’s jeans to get damp; he had lent over to peer into the dark waters but there had been nothing for him to see. Deciding it was time for bed, Wolffe had gotten up and slowly made his way to his house, firmly locking the door before falling into his bed.

The next morning Wolffe had just written the whole thing off as a drunken hallucination but once he had gone down to the pier, he had found faint scratches, _claw marks_ , on the wood that had not been there before. So he had gone to see his _ba’vodu_ , half-expecting to be lectured about the dangers of mers once again, but at the mention of the weird mer’s name Jango’s expression had turned into a calculating one, the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes growing as he had narrowed his eyes.

“So they are back,” Jango had said, then refusing to say anything more, which had irritated Wolffe quite a lot: he may have slipped to Cody and Rex the fact that some unknown mer had been asking for their _buir_ , knowing full well his cousins wouldn’t give Jango rest until they knew why.

Being petty was one of the many wonderful characteristics the Fett DNA had been blessed with and Wolffe had learned from one of the best.

With that said and done, Wolffe had thought that had been it and had returned to inspect if there were any other damage on the pier…

… only to nearly tip into water once more when the same kriffing mer popped up right next to him, and once again Wolffe had sworn a bluestreak in Mando’a while Plo had chuckled at him.

That had been three months ago and Wolffe had since then accepted the fact that the mer was now someone he could count as a friend.

Plo would come to the pier every other day although the man suspected that he visited it far more often than that – he had found the beginnings of some interesting new rock and kelp formations surrounding the pier’s pillars, when he had gotten into the water to check the pier’s condition a few weeks back. And if Wolffe headed out to the sea, it wouldn’t take long for his radar to show something big approach and circle his boat a few times before Plo’s now familiar masked and goggled face would appear right next to the boat, effectively scaring away all the fishes nearby.

At least he had started to bring some fish or clams as an apology after the one-time Wolffe had jokingly complained to the mer about it.

Once the apology fishes were given, they would spend hours talking with Wolffe leaning against the gunwale and Plo bobbing gently along the waves, that long tail of his twisting in the water. Through their conversations Wolffe had learned that Plo was part of a semi-migratory pod that had returned this particular area after almost a ten-year long break, which explained why he had known Jango, and that most of their members were of mixed origins, something Wolffe had witnessed once, having caught the sight of the pod with his binoculars.

Plo wasn’t offended by Wolffe’s curiosity when it came to the odd gear he wore, explaining the need for the eye-protection due to his origins as a species that dwelled in the depths of the sea. It meant that sunlight was often too bright for the silvery eyes Wolffe had seen on that first night. The only subject he gave the vaguest answer was related to the mask Plo wore, the mer explaining off-handedly that it protected his mandibles or something.

The mer in return had asked many questions to Wolffe, most of them regarding any major events involving the island the past decade as well as asking about the man’s various relatives and what they did. Plo had found Wolffe’s day job quite intriguing, since he clearly hadn’t expected one of the Fetts to leave the sea behind them.

Wolffe had rolled his eyes at that, muttering something about how it was “good to break the pattern once in a while.”

Nevertheless, the mer had soon started to climb into the boat. The first time that Plo had tried that had left Wolffe’s boat more than a little wet on the side than it was supposed to. Wolffe had been annoyed and alarmed about the water sloshing against his boots but the sight of Plo’s tail, first time in proper sunlight, had left an impression on him:

Already quite familiar with Plo’s ochre-like skin, Wolffe had been surprised to see the dark, umber-colored hide that covered Plo’s long, snake-like tail. The mer had no frilly fins. Instead his dorsal fin ran all the way down to the end Plo’s tail, like that of a moray eel. The end of his tail was different, though, the fin itself widening into a more rounded shape than the angular point Wolffe normally associated with morays. The mer’s pelvic fins shared the same rounded shape as his tail while Plo’s long anal fin shared the same, even shape as his dorsal one.

It was very clear that Plo wasn’t one of the most colorful mers in the ocean but there was something about the way the sun played on the umber color that drew Wolffe’s attention right from the start.

Over these past three months Wolffe had slowly come to realise that there were _many_ things that drew Wolffe’s attention when it came to Plo.

Just like now, with the morning sun shining on the dark hide that changed color as Plo shifted slightly.

Rolling his eyes to hide the effect Plo’s near presence had on him, Wolffe turned his back to the mer. “I thought you were going to hunt with the rest of the pod today.” He said, climbing to the bow as he spoke.

“The hunt was postponed because of last night’s storm,” Plo replied, tail dragging across the decking as he shifted, “the currents brought quite a lot of debris that needs to be cleared away from our caves before we can leave. Luckily no one was hurt last night, thank the Force.”

Wolffe glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “So why are you here then? You wouldn’t possibly be skipping your duties by any chance?” he asked, smirking.

The mer huffed, the sound slightly distorted by the mask he wore. “I am not “skipping” anything, Wolffe,” Plo explained calmly as if he was talking to a child instead of a grown human. Despite his tone, he definitely gave the man a fond look. “I came to check upon my friend’s wellbeing. I know that the storm hit the other side of the island much worse but I wanted to be sure that you were alright.”

The man turned his back again to Plo to hide the small smile that was trying to appear on his face at the mer’s words, something fluttering in his stomach. “Wasn’t aware you mers would care that much about a non-pod member, Plo,” Wolffe said wryly, aiming to tease the mer.

Checking the cleats and the rope fastened around the one on the starboard side, Wolffe didn’t immediately notice the lack of reply. It was only when he headed back to the aft that the man realized how silent Plo had become. The mer had straightened himself from the sprawling position he had been earlier, facing the man fully and even with the protective eyewear, Wolffe was absolutely certain that Plo was staring him right in the eyes.

Pausing for a second, Wolffe slowly lowered himself back on the deck, careful not to step on the umber-colored tail, and wondered if he had said something wrong. “Did I –, “ Wolffe started, only for Plo to speak over him:

“Would that really surprise you?” he asked softly, that deep voice more serious than Wolffe had ever heard. “That I would care so much about a non-pod member, Wolffe? That I would care so much about _you?_ ”

The question and the severity of Plo’s tone left the man speechless, mouth opening and closing once, twice, as he tried to understand what the words stirred inside him. Surprise, Wolffe could easily pinpoint that one but the mer’s reaction alarmed him as well. As the silence stretched between them, Wolffe felt the alarm turn into a mild panic because Plo was clearly waiting for an answer. But before he could come up with anything, the mer leaned back, turning to look at the sea.

“Where you planning to head out today?” Plo asked, the question an escape in disguise that Wolffe, embarrassed and conflicted, grabbed with both hands.

“No, have to leave for work in an hour,” he replied, watching Plo shift on the boat and clearly getting ready to slip back into the water. “No doubt the storm has cut down some trees that need to be cleared away. No powerlines are down, I guess, since Boost hasn’t called me to the station.” The man’s eyes glanced at the bunching muscles on Plo’s arms as he pulled himself to rest on the gunwale, the blunt claws tapping the edge.

“I see. Perhaps we shall see later in the evening then.”

“Yeah, perhaps,” Wolffe nodded, watching Plo tip himself back into water with a splash.

Taking two steps to look over the side of the boat, Wolffe saw the long, shadowy figure of Plo circle the boat but instead of swimming to the open sea, the mer disappeared beneath the pier.

Kriff. 

* * *

Wolffe’s hunch had been correct. Once he got to the station, he and his team got dispatched to clear some of the roads in the inner parts of the island. He welcomed the physical labor as it helped him to clear his mind a little. The man had somewhat grudgingly admitted to himself that Plo’s questions had affected him far more than he thought they would.

So Plo cared about him? Well, Wolffe cared about Plo as well. He was pleased that Plo thought they were friends because he also considered the other a friend, a very close one. He was different compared to the pack of maniacs Wolffe called relatives or the men he worked with at the station. He was a good speaker, sharing information about his life in the pod and before joining them but was also quite interested on whatever Wolffe would tell him about the islands comes and goings. Plo had a surprisingly dry sense of humor beneath his calm veneer, often making pointed observations about human and mer alike that had had Wolffe laughing more than once.

But the mer had quickly learned when Wolffe wanted company but didn’t really have the mental spoons to offer much. The mer would tilt his head before resting his forearms on the pier, starting a soft, one-sided conversation when Wolffe worked on his boat. Sometimes the man brought his flower pots and bags of soil down to the pier, tending the plants while Plo poked at the delicate plants, ever so careful with his long claws. He had even offered help and honestly, watching the mer stare at his soil covered talons in confusion was also quite hilarious and cute.

Sinker’s call had Wolffe straightening his back as the piece of the fallen tree that had been leaning precariously against another came down, branches snapping off as it fell on the road instead of the house right next to it. Wolffe, Boost and Comet each grabbed a branch and started to drag the treetop on to the other side of the road while Sinker moved to cut the trunk into smaller pieces.

The elderly couple that lived in the small house were so excited about the whole process, the tiny man talking loudly to each and every member of their team, even when the chainsaw buzzed loudly, while the even tinier lady kept trying to offer them coffee or tea or cinnamon buns or cookies that she had ‘just made this morning, you handsome boys need some meat on your bones’. Comet, the opportunist, had already accepted two cinnamon buns and now, at the mention of fresh cookies he looked ready to leave Boost and Wolfe carry away the tree alone.

After some well-aimed glares got the now sheepish Comet back into work, Wolffe’s thoughts returned back to his mer puzzle.

So why did hearing those words coming from Plo himself had affected Wolffe this much?

As if on cue a memory from the morning flashed through his mind, the sight of Plo sprawled comfortably on the aft of Wolffe’s boat and the way the sunlight had lit up the mer. Back then Wolffe hadn’t really paid mind to it but now he could remember the way visible parts of Plo’s face had shifted, a sign that he had been smiling. How weird was that? Plo shared very few similarities with a human face and Wolffe was 100% that the mask the mer wore hid even more differences but Wolffe had just known that Plo had been happy to find the man unharmed.

And Wolffe also remembered the odd twist in his stomach the sight of his happiness had caused.

“Oi captain, don’t make us do all the work,” Boost grumbled, and Wolffe blinked, realizing that his grip on the branch had slackened.

Wolffe quickly tightened his hold, ignoring the odd looks Comet and Boost sent at the pinched expression that took over his face.

He needed to talk to Plo as soon as possible.

* * *

The moment the front door closed behind him, Wolffe shrugged off his jacket and kicked the shoes off, sending them flying in his haste. He kept undressing as he climbed upstairs, heading for the closet that stored his snorkelling gear. Pulling out the dark grey and black shorty, Wolffe wasted no time getting naked and tugging it on, as well as grabbing the equally grey and black fins from the shelf. Wolffe tucked them under his arm, his other hand picking up the mask and snorkel before rushing back downstairs.

He paused long enough to text both _buir_ and Dogma that he was in the water before he was out of the backdoor and heading down to the pier, bare feet slapping on the stone steps.

Once there, Wolffe stopped at the edge, looking down into the water, squinting. His eyes caught the shadowy movements of fishes but he barely saw the bottom. Wolffe placed the fins on the wooden planks before he laid down on his stomach, the mask dangling from his wrist as the man shadowed his eyes from the sun.

Waiting, Wolffe stared into the dark green water, hoping that he was right. There was at least four meters to the bottom, perhaps a bit more since the mer had started his “landscaping” project.

As he laid there, something big and sinuous circled one of the pillars, disappearing beneath the pier.

 _So, he is still down there_ , Wolffe thought with a frown, pushing himself up. The fact that Plo had not come up even though he most likely had sensed Wolffe’s arrival wasn’t really a promising sign.

Frown deepening, Wolfe pushed himself up to his knees.

Few seconds later he stepped off the pier, the shock of hitting the cool water barely registering as Wolffe oriented himself to float on his stomach. He could see to the bottom much clearly now, the odd rock formations Plo had created sticking out immediately.

Inhaling deeply, Wolffe held his breath and dove. It took a few kicks for him to reach the bottom and Wolffe was surprised to see just how much the mer had cleared the area down there.

Plo had not only removed all big rocks and few odd pieces of concrete and stuff Wolffe and his cousins had dropped into water over the time but also most of the kelp that had been growing there was gone (the ones that were left looked like they were getting taken care of, like an underwater garden of sorts).

What the mer had done to replace the missing stones and kelp was just as surprising.

What Wolffe had thought to be vague shapes revealed to be neat circles of rocks in different sizes and colors. Grabbing the base of a supporting pillar, Wolffe inspected the closest of the circles, now close enough to see that it held more than just rocks. Somehow Plo had gathered differently colored pieces of shellfish, old lures and shards of glass that had been arranged between the rocks, forming almost geometrical designs. Some of the circles weren’t complete but in the process of getting fixed, judging by from the piles of scavenged material next to them.

Looking around revealed that almost every circle had a slightly different design but they all shared one detail: in the middle of every circle was an orange piece of sea pottery and a white stone.

Wolffe felt his lungs starting to protest and he was about to head for the surface when movement underneath the pier caught his attention and he turned to see at the very reason he was down there.

Plo, who had been resting his head on his arms, lifted himself and uncoiled his body from around a large rock, one Wolffe vaguely remembered having nearly ruined his plans for the pier. The long tail flowed behind the mer as he slowly swam from underneath the pier, rays of light playing with his hide.

Instead of heading immediately to Wolffe, Plo circled around the man, who kept holding onto the slippery wood as he turned around to keep the mer within his eyesight.

It was… different to watch the mer approach him while being underwater rather than from his boat.

Every lazy move of that long tail spoke of strength, of the hunter that Plo was. It was easy to understand why people were warned against mers, why Jango and _buir_ had drilled into their minds to be extra careful when it came to them. Before this moment it had never been clearer to Wolffe that this was Plo’s world, where he would easily be on his mercy, should the mer decide so.

Plo never once turned his face away from the man, not even as he approached one of the half-finished circles. Wolffe watched him lower one arm as the mer swam over it, claws brushing the orange and white stones before he twisted his tail, turning towards Wolffe.

But as Plo came face to face with Wolffe, he released a gentle klick-whistle and the man knew for certain that he was safe.

Something must’ve shown in his eyes, even with the mask, because suddenly the mer was reaching for Wolffe’s face but stopping before actually touching him.

Plo repeated the klick-whistle, waiting.

 _To hell with it_ , Wolffe thought and pushed his mask to hang down around his neck with his free hand. The salt water stung his eyes but Wolffe didn’t hesitate to reach out for Plo. His hand slid behind the mer’s head, tugging Plo close enough for Wolffe to press their foreheads together. He felt intense relief when Plo’s hands came to cradle his face and then Plo was pushing back into the touch, clicking once more.

The moment lasted maybe a second or two before Plo let go, wrapping his arms around Wolffe’s chest instead. With ease, the mer swam upwards, and Wolffe sucked in air loudly the moment they broke to the surface, coughing a little.

“Are you alright?” Plo asked, mild worry coloring the mer’s voice and his arms tightened their hold around Wolffe.

“Fine, just need a sec.” Wolffe rubbed his eyes slightly before opening them again, finding Plo’s face suddenly very close to his. It startled Wolffe, eyes widening, to be this close to the mer, even if one part of his mind was wryly pointing out that the shock was rather pointless – after all, he had been the one to initiate the _mirshmure’cya_ with Plo.

“I – I realized something today and, uh,” Wolffe started, trailing off as soon as he actually needed to speak.

Wolffe watched the mer nod his head in a silent reassurance, silently telling the man that he could take all the time he needed. The arms still holding him were gentle and Wolffe spared a second to marvel how easily Plo kept them above the surface as well as how no previous experience could compare to the different feeling of having an actual tail pressed against his legs. Instinctively, Wolffe tried his best not to kick Plo with his knees, quite certain that the mer wouldn’t appreciate that since Plo was clearly taking care of not pressing his claws too hard into Wolffe’s back.

That too felt odd, the sensation of blunt claw tips resting against his muscles, separated from Wolffe’s skin by only five millimetres of neoprene. He knew from experience just how strong they were, having not only seen Plo use them to wrench open clams but draw deep grooves into a piece of driftwood. He had more than once wanted to touch them, to find out how different they would feel and –

“I am glad. To know that you care about me.” Wolffe couldn’t stop himself from grimacing at the awkwardness after he blurted out the words. Taking a deep breath, he fumbled a bit with his hands, uncertain of what to do with them, before resting one, then the other on Plo’s shoulders. He made sure to look the other in the eyes as he spoke again. “I don’t have that many friends that aren’t family. Never really thought about it, when one fifth of the island’s population is related to you. Some of them are assholes but most of them are alright. But you’re different. I like you. A lot actually.”

Falling quiet, Wolffe waited for the other’s response.

Plo hummed, fingers flexing minutely before settling again. “While it warms me to hear you say that, I must ask you to clear something for me since I wouldn’t dare to assume. When you say that you like me, do you mean it as a friend or… possibly as something more?”

To his dying breath Wolffe would deny the slight heat that spread on his face at the question but he didn’t look away from Plo. “I don’t know, maybe? I haven’t been in, uh, this kind of situation before,” Wolffe glanced away quickly, a little embarrassed. “I mean I’ve dated but not with a – “

“Not with a mer,” Plo finished gently, raising one hand from the water. For a second Wolffe thought the mer was going to touch his face but Plo’s hand stopped right before and, just like he had done underwater, once again silently waited for Wolffe’s permission.

Once he received a tiny nod from the man, Plo gently cupped Wolffe’s cheek.

“You are not the only one, Wolffe. I have not felt a connection like this with a human before.”

The mer’s thumb started to move slowly, caressing Wolffe’s cheek. It didn’t feel that bad and the mer was clearly careful of his claws. Plo’s hand was maybe a bit cooler than he had expected but it didn’t feel all that different.

“You wouldn’t mind us taking things slowly?” Wolffe asked, daring to slide his right hand from Plo’s shoulder towards his neck. He stopped it there, fingers right on the edge of the wet collar of the shirt, him in turn asking for a permission.

The mer gave it without a hesitation, bending his head just enough to the side and Wolffe curled his fingers around Plo’s neck, careful of his gills.

“I would not,” Plo replied, shifting Wolffe a little as he relaxed at the touch, their chests pressing tighter together for a second. “I would be happy to find out if this connection between us can grow even deeper but I value your friendship and I hope you value mine. It is not something I want to be ruined because of impatience or making each other feel uncomfortable.”

Wolffe nodded, feeling the difference of the mer’s skin against his fingers. It felt thicker than human’s and was definitely not as smooth.

“Thank you,” the man said and after a moment of hesitation Wolffe pulled Plo closer, the mer bowed his head so that they could press their foreheads together.

“Is this alright?” he asked, watching for any sign of discomfort, even if the mask and the eye covers made it a bit challenging.

“This is more than alright,” Plo replied, voice dropping into a deep rumble.

**Author's Note:**

> Plo's little circles are what this cute Japanese puffer fish does with sand: lovely artworks that are made to attract a mate. He might've started with the intention of cleaning the bottom around the pier but ended with creating several 'wanna go on a date me?' circles.
> 
> Have not fully decided who is Wolffe's _buir_ in this 'verse is but think might settle with Alpha-17, if ever write more. Dogma is the little brother. Boba, Cody and Rex are Jango's. The rest of the family tree is still fuzzy to me. 
> 
> I also spent too much time googling on what different parts of a boat are called in English.


End file.
